I don't have this post grounded in a precise idea, necessarily. No story, no moment. Just--a feeling. And an incredible one.
Today, I feel like I'm a participant, an active and happy, hopeful participant, in my own life. I am completely bombarded with a million thoughts and obligations and underground fears of impossible expectations and romantic imaginings...but, I am perfectly content. I am not passing through the day hoping for much more. I am not waiting on a tomorrow that makes me feel my today has worth. Even if I lose sleep, even if I never get around to cleaning my room, even if my feelings are hurt, even if I'm so far from who I know I can and want to be, my life is in a good place, for myriad reasons.
And I just wanted to write, as more of a self-reminder for when this joy becomes veiled in ineluctable strife, that this feeling exists. That, even in loss or confusion, springs a chance for growth.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
Fin de siècle
He runs his fingers across the wood of the café table top. It was the same place I had sat across from him months ago and first taken note of his kind, crisp eyes—blue with a green gloss. Now, I can see them studying my face, his brow in pitied curl, his hands resting flat. And I had been always aware of his hands—their aggression on my hip, their hesitation on my cheek. The hands that said so much but never enough.
“Something’s missing.”
“It’s been this way awhile.”
I watch blurred forms pass me, in pairs, in smiles, as we share a silent walk to the lot. The cars are parked diagonally in their places.
Waiting.
Crooked.
Metal.
Our steps diverge.
“You deserve love, and I can’t get there.”
“And I’m still in that same spot.”
I collect book, shirt, all the his in a bag, and I make the last leg to the house. I hover on the doorstep, float into the room. His words spiral between us, some flinging from the void and stinging my skin. And I watch him turn away as he rubs the steam burn on his inner wrist—a heart-shaped burn with a thick blue vein running through its center.
“How do you feel?”
Broken.
“Something’s missing.”
“It’s been this way awhile.”
I watch blurred forms pass me, in pairs, in smiles, as we share a silent walk to the lot. The cars are parked diagonally in their places.
Waiting.
Crooked.
Metal.
Our steps diverge.
“You deserve love, and I can’t get there.”
“And I’m still in that same spot.”
I collect book, shirt, all the his in a bag, and I make the last leg to the house. I hover on the doorstep, float into the room. His words spiral between us, some flinging from the void and stinging my skin. And I watch him turn away as he rubs the steam burn on his inner wrist—a heart-shaped burn with a thick blue vein running through its center.
“How do you feel?”
Broken.
Monday, February 11, 2008
A Soundtrack
I was given some iTunes money for Christmas--for those who love me know me well--and I just spent the majority of it buying songs of my childhood soundtrack. This includes but is not limited to several jams by Tevin Campbell, before he grew up and his voice changed, and "I Wanna Sex You Up" by the oh-so-eclectic Color Me Badd [to think I used to sing those words and honestly had NO clue what they meant...]. I can't remember what I just read this afternoon, but I still know every word of these beautiful bits of lyrical poetry.
Playing right now, a true favorite:
"Lil' Brother" by Tevin Campbell
My sister was the girl part, and I was the guy Tevin part, and we would sing the whole song, while my poor parents had to watch. We had microphones and made motions for the "I'll give you my French fry..." part. Sheer awesomeness, it was.
We had "dance parties" where we'd blast music like Taylor Dayne or Tevin, and we'd walk and dance around the Oriental rugs, lip-synching our hearts out. We each had our favorite song on each album. My Dad loved "Strawberry Letter 23" and I was into "One Song" off of T.E.V.I.N. I almost bought the song he did for the A Goofy Movie soundtrack, but it's an 'Album Only,' blast it. So great, so great.
I sometimes have this fear that my mind can only hold so much, so many memories, but then, innocent and easy times come back to me, like Sister and my sing-along nights, and the fact that I believed I had lost those things forever, that they had sailed away, makes the moments when they surface seem even the more precious.
My heart gets heavy reflecting on those meaningless memories- middle school dances, summers playing Shark in the 5-ft pool-they seem to hit the largest strings.
And it's moments like the past that make the present bittersweet. Things do keep going, the world doesn't stop, for anybody. We grow old, we move away, but parts of us, shiny shards of the person I used to be, remain in that past, eyes closed tight, hands clenched, belting out that long note at the end of the song, in the company of those who love me most.
Playing right now, a true favorite:
"Lil' Brother" by Tevin Campbell
My sister was the girl part, and I was the guy Tevin part, and we would sing the whole song, while my poor parents had to watch. We had microphones and made motions for the "I'll give you my French fry..." part. Sheer awesomeness, it was.
We had "dance parties" where we'd blast music like Taylor Dayne or Tevin, and we'd walk and dance around the Oriental rugs, lip-synching our hearts out. We each had our favorite song on each album. My Dad loved "Strawberry Letter 23" and I was into "One Song" off of T.E.V.I.N. I almost bought the song he did for the A Goofy Movie soundtrack, but it's an 'Album Only,' blast it. So great, so great.
I sometimes have this fear that my mind can only hold so much, so many memories, but then, innocent and easy times come back to me, like Sister and my sing-along nights, and the fact that I believed I had lost those things forever, that they had sailed away, makes the moments when they surface seem even the more precious.
My heart gets heavy reflecting on those meaningless memories- middle school dances, summers playing Shark in the 5-ft pool-they seem to hit the largest strings.
And it's moments like the past that make the present bittersweet. Things do keep going, the world doesn't stop, for anybody. We grow old, we move away, but parts of us, shiny shards of the person I used to be, remain in that past, eyes closed tight, hands clenched, belting out that long note at the end of the song, in the company of those who love me most.
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